


Technologically Challenged

by Bella_Dahlia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, SHIELD shenanigans, how Steve and Nat become besties, plantonic relationships for the win, short works of cute, technology is just the worst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Dahlia/pseuds/Bella_Dahlia
Summary: A series of moments in which Natasha helps Steve with modern life. And maybe by the end of this, a time he helps her.





	1. Comms

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy my tiny glimpses into the friendship of Natasha and Steve. Steve’s got some great Bromances in his life, but the intense platonic affection between these two intrigued me as the Just As Important But Not As Often Explored side of things. Happy reading!

Natasha gives Steve his comm piece while they’re in the quinjet, hurdling toward Germany at a ridiculous pace.

He’s already in his new and improved suit, silver star shining against a more muted navy. She had privately questioned the choice to put him back in the Stars and Stripes, her inherent cynicism getting the better of her, but seeing him now, she understands. It’s not patriotism she feels—patriotism is a symptom of a disease she is inoculated against—but it is a calmness, a reassurance that is worth while.

She knows how little time he has had to acclimate to his new world, so when she hands him the tiny ear piece, she goes into Trainer Mode without prompting.

“This is your wireless automated communication—IT tries to get us all on board with calling them WAC, but they’re pretty much the only ones who find acronyms funny,” she explains. She’s holding the piece of plastic between her thumb and forefinger, and Steve eyes it skeptically.

“This is gonna let me talk to other members of my team?” he asks.

“For up to a 2 mile radius,” Natasha confirms. “The side that tapers is how it fits into your ear canal. It’ll feel strange at first, but you’ll get used to it quick. Some agents have been known to fall asleep with them in on accident—we definitely never take advantage of that for our own entertainment.”

She purses her lips briefly, an image of a particular blonde agent floating past her eyes. She wills it away, tamping it down along with the desperate question of whether she’ll see him in Germany or not. Memories and questions don’t help the mission.

She drops the ear piece in Steve’s gloved hand. He’s eyeing it with the same level of distrust she saw him giving the coffee pot on the Heliacarrier when he thought no one was looking.

“Okay, so this is how I hear, but what do I talk into?”

“You just talk like normal, it’ll pick it all up.”

Steve looks up at her blankly. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”

Natasha expects his naïveté to annoy her, or at least bore her—she’s surprised when she finds herself fighting a smile, morphing it into a more signature dry smirk to cover her.

“Aw, shucks, Cap, I would never.”

The nickname rolls off her tongue easily, like it isn’t the first time it’s been used. She sees a faint flush in his cheeks, an uncomfortable embarrassment making his shoulders start to climb up toward his ears with tension. She decides to show him mercy. 

“The microphone picks up the vibrations in your ear drum that happen when you speak and automatically begins to transmit.” She slips her comm into her right ear with ease, and gestures for him to do the same. He bends his head as he places it in, and has the tell tale first time posture of keeping his head ever so slightly turned, as if the tiny piece of plastic actually weighs something. Which it really doesn’t.

“Channel seven check.” She gestures toward him.

“Channel seven, Check,” he parrots back.

“Coming in clear,” she responds with a small nod. 

Steve stares at her, eyebrows gently raised. “Well, yeah, cause I’m standing right here.”

He almost has her; she is this close to falling into a patient, restrained explanation of how he should be able to hear the difference in tone and volume of what’s coming from the technology versus not, but then she sees that slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a mischievous sparkle in the blue of his eyes.

“Y’know, your file didn’t mention you’re a bit of a punk, Rogers.”

He shrugs. “I’m from Brooklyn.”


	2. Internet

Steve calls her barely a week after the New York Incident.

For all intents and purposes, she’s off the radar. Flying with a free pass from Director Fury himself. She used a few of the days to go back to Barton’s farm, stay up late drinking wine with Laura, stay up even later with whiskey and Clint. But she doesn’t like to overstay her welcome; no matter how much he protests, she knows he needs family time.

As much as he protests, she knows she doesn’t count. 

So she returns to New York, quietly, and packs a single box of items that she’ll want to take with her when she moves. Fury has already informed her she’ll be relocating to DC once her leave is over. Not that the location matters much to her, it’s only ever a place to sleep. 

She’s scrolling through furnished apartment listings when the call comes in. Secure in her privacy, she allows herself a small smile as she answers.

“Miss me already, Cap?”

“Natasha, uh, hi,” Steve stammers on the other end of the line. His voice is more nervous than she’s ever heard, and weirdly high pitched. “You don’t happen to be on the city, do you?”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

“I, uh—thanks, I mean, only if it’s—let me give you the address—“

“Steve,” Natasha interrupts. “Spy, remember?”

“...Right. See you soon.”

Eighteen minutes later when Steve opens the door to his apartment, Natasha relaxes a fraction. The blush in his face is awkward and sweet and holds none of the deeper existential crisis she was concerned about. The guy has been out of the ice less than a month, some continued emotional fallout would only be natural. It also would have been the problem Natasha is least equipped to handle, so she’s relieved when his body language implies something less severe.

“So where’s the fire?” she asks as he steps aside, allowing her entry. The apartment is small, and has all the trappings of a SHIELD safe house, but she also notices touches that give the place warmth. An acoustic guitar in a corner of the hall, charcoal sketches pinned to the walls; he even has some plants by the window.

He’s been in the place weeks, and it already has more character than the apartment she’s called hers for the past year and a half.

Now that’s a thought to unpack at a later time.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Steve is rubbing the back of his neck, one elbow high in the air, a universal guy code for flustered. She follows his gaze, sees the closed laptop that his eyes are locked onto, and heads over to the couch to retrieve it. “Something’s just—wrong, very wrong, actually now that I think about it maybe I should just throw that one away and start a new one...”

Natasha arches a single well manicured brow. “It’s a computer, not a dairy. You don’t normally crumple it up and start over because it misbehaves a little.” She sits down on the couch, balancing the laptop on her knees and opens up the screen. Steve suddenly goes white, stepping toward her and reaching out as if he’s going to pluck the computer from her.

“No, don’t—!”

The strangely mingled sounds of barks, growls, and moans fill the room as the screen lights, the laptop flooded with pop up screen after pop up. Natasha’s other eyebrow shoots up to meet the first, her gaze coolly assessing the various websites while she mutes the sounds with a single keystroke.

Steve hangs his head, hands shoved into his pants pockets, looking for all the world like a kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar he didn’t even want. “If I try to close one, two more just open up,” he mumbles.

“Hydra lives, in the form of crappy pop up porn,” Natasha intones dryly, then leans a little closer to the screen. “Crappy Pop up... furry porn, by the look of it. No judgement here, but what exactly did you type into a search engine that got you here?”

Steve points towards a crumpled piece of paper on the coffee table. “Clint gave me a website...”

Natasha closes her eyes, breathes in for three counts and breathes out for five. In that time, she visualizes eight different silent deaths she could inflict on her best friend. 

“Okay, so, new rule number one: do not, under any circumstances, turn to Barton for ‘I am Need To Catch Up With The World’ advice.”


End file.
